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“Well, that’s done,” ‘Liv said as we stopped at the side of the tent, out of view of most of the other guests. Orlando was nowhere to be seen. There were a few other people near us, all lighting up cigarettes, but they weren’t paying any attention.

“Olivia, I have something I need to tell you,” I hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible. I suspected that if Orlando heard my voice, he’d know who I was instantly. It’s kind of hard to forget the voice that told you off only the night before.

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Olivia didn’t say anything until we were safely sequestered in my flat a short time later. She’d let me cry without interfering, without telling me I’d done the right thing, without a word, and I appreciated it. The truth was, I didn’t know what to say, and I think she sensed that.

But her silence didn’t last. She was fuming, and couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.

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He seemed to take his time, mulling over exactly what it was he wanted to say. I waited as patiently as I could, but it was difficult. A million questions raced through my mind, all of them things I’d want to know if I were him. On top of that, though, I had so many questions of my own to ask, so many things I wanted to know about him, now that we were communicating a bit better. But I knew my questions would have to wait. He’d earned the right to go first by not telling me I was a liar and a bitch and slamming down the phone.

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The next few days were spent putting out the professional fires my mother’s little announcement had ignited. Olivia was beside herself with anxiety over how this would affect the release of my new book, especially when Georgie started threatening to pull the book all together. To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less.

My focus was beyond skewed as I tried to reconcile my professional doom with my personal sense of peace and contentment. I knew I should be more worried about the fact that my career was essentially in the crapper, but Orlando was making it very hard to be anything but strangely giddy.

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Apparently her meeting with Georgie went well the following morning, because Olivia showed up at my flat with take away and a huge grin on her face. I sighed as I let her in.

“Your book is going ahead as planned,” she burst out, setting the Chinese food on the coffee table. “Georgie is happy as a pig in shit right now, and we’d like to keep it that way, so nothing can interfere with this TV thing.”

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Things were pretty quiet for a few weeks after Olivia’s visit. Orlando didn’t pester me about meeting up with him, mainly because filming was set to start on After Midnight, and he had virtually no time. I ran lines with him over the phone, and offered my opinions for him, but I tried not to interfere too much. He was reading my dialogue, from my final re-write, and he seemed to understand it very well, so I felt no need to press him.

Scheduling my television interview seemed to be taking longer than I’d thought it would. Olivia was being very particular about which shows she contacted, and I was grateful for that. She called me daily to keep me updated, but mostly she just told me to sit tight and wait for the right offer. Of course, she’d let me know what the right offer actually was.

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